Made for Immortality
by the.drizzling.rain
Summary: "The idea that everyone thought he was younger than Arthur never failed to make him laugh. He could understand the cause for confusion, but really—he was an old man compared to the rest of them." Secrets come to light when a lord from Merlin's past comes to visit. Season 4, AU, immortal!Merlin, no slash, reveal!fic
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer**__: I don't own Merlin._

**Made for Immortality**

**Chapter One**

The idea that everyone thought he was younger than Arthur never failed to make him laugh. He could understand the cause for confusion, but really—he was an old man compared to the rest of them. It was odd to think about, given his youthful appearance, but he was even older than _Gaius_. The old physician was still a young man to Merlin, if it were a mere comparison of years. Although, in spirit, he supposed the man was his elder; Merlin didn't doubt he'd be in as bad a mood continually as the court physician if he was stuck with rickety bones and wrinkled skin.

Aging was so overrated. And unnecessary. Really, all it did was get in the way.

Had Merlin had aged past twenty-five, he would have a beard down to his toes, hair just as long if he was lucky enough to keep it, and pink, toothless gums. It made him shudder just to think about it; how would he get anything done in that body? Fate had definitely thought ahead in stopping his aging.

The sun was peeking just over the horizon, bathing Camelot in a golden glaze. The sight never ceased to fill him with wonder. It really was a beautiful kingdom.

Stopping by the kitchens, Merlin retrieved the king's breakfast, charming the young ladies working in the kitchen with his (thankfully toothy) smile. They always blushed a bright red and gathered in a huddle when they saw him, chattering away excitedly. He shook his head, smiling; if only they knew just how old he really was.

Bounding up several staircases, grin still plastered on his face, he made his way up to Arthur's quarters. Not bothering to knock, he shouldered the door open. The platter filled with a ridiculous amount of food was balanced precariously on one hand, a small basket of laundry he'd picked up on the way there in the other. He was just glad he'd remembered it sooner rather than later. His memory was going in his old age.

Setting both loads down in their respective homes, Merlin opened the curtains with unecessary flourish. "Up and at 'em, your majesty!"

There was a groan. "Ten more minutes..." Arthur grabbed a pillow from the other, unused side of the bed, and put it over his face protectively. The sunlight changed the bed's hue just as it had the city.

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Come on, Arthur, time to get up. You'll be late—Lord... _Macedonius_? Was that his name?" He paused for a moment. "Yes, that was his name. He's coming this morning, remember?"

"Mmm... don't remind me." Arthur sighed. He flung the pillow back to the other side of the bed and ran his hands over his face.

"A little late for that. Get up, lest you want me to resort to another, far less pleasant method of getting you out of bed?" Merlin couldn't refrain from smirking; the memory only got sweeter by the day.

The effects were instantaneous. "You wouldn't dare!" Arthur sat straight up in bed, eyes widened and warily meeting Merlin's. He clearly had the exact same memory in mind.

"I did it once, who's to say I won't do it again?" Arthur threw his pillow at his manservant, of whom barely managed to avoid it. It bounced off the wall and fell harmlessly to the floor. Merlin picked it up and walked over to the bed, ushering Arthur out of it. "Looks like you're up now, anyway," Merlin said. ("Your observation skills astound me, Merlin," Arthur mumbled dryly. Merlin ignored him.) "Get your lazy ass up and out of bed and eat your breakfast so I can change your sheets."

Arthur grumbled something unintelligible beneath his breath, his eyes squinted against the bright sunlight. Merlin watched him as he almost had to feel his way to the drapes of the window. He dragged them closed and shuffled to the table. Arthur sat down heavily and let his head fall into his folded arms, an exhausted sigh escaping his lips.

Merlin noticed all this and shook his head before shifting back to his task. He fluffed the pillows and removed and replaced the sheets, thinking.

Kingship had been hard on Arthur. Barely a year into the job and he was losing precious hours of sleep to paperwork, stress, the looming threat of Morgana, and even more paperwork. There was more, of course, but those were the main issues. Merlin couldn't do much about it, much to his obvious displeasure and dismay. If he could, Merlin would gladly take over the duties of king if it meant Arthur would let himself get a full night's sleep. Young men needed their sleep.

He finished quickly and nudged Arthur back into the world of the living. After a few bleary blinks from the king, Merlin managed to keep him awake long enough to eat a bit of his breakfast. Dressing Arthur that morning was something akin to dressing an overgrown toddler right after a nap. His head kept nodding tiredly, an almost comic thing to witness. The dark circles under his blue eyes were noticeable from a mile away. Merlin frowned his concern, but otherwise said nothing.

Until, that is, the idiot almost _impaled_ himself with his sharpened sword when Merlin handed it to him, meant to be strapped at his hip to complete the _kingly attire_. "Go back to bed, Arthur. Sleep for a bit; it'll do you good. I'm sure Lord What's-his-face will understand." Merlin's face was creased with growing concern, his brow furrowed in frustration. Of course the idiot wouldn't do it; since when did he listen to Merlin?

Arthur rolled his eyes at Merlin's phrasing. "Meeting Macedonius is very important—his serfs are said to be suffering, plagued by some sort of magical monster..." He sighed, massaging his temples. Merlin guessed he probably had a headache coming on; he made a mental note to bring him something from Gaius when he could. "I can't remember," he admitted, sighing. "I might be thinking of another lord."

Merlin frowned in sympathy. Arthur couldn't have been feeling well if he was admitting mistakes. "This lord can wait, Arthur." Merlin said firmly. "I'll go and tell them you're not feeling well, then bring up something for that headache of yours."

Arthur opened his mouth to argue, but Merlin's glare silenced him. Nodding wearily, he said, "Tell Uncle he'll be in charge for the day." Merlin nodded obediently and helped Arthur remove the belt holding his blade. Setting it on the table in the corner, he watched the king fall forward and onto the bed with a soft _oomph_. It didn't take long at all for him to start snoring. Merlin smiled fondly at the sight. Exiting the room, he shut the door slowly and as quietly as possible.

Looking out the windows after leaving the king's quarters told him the lord was due to arrive at any moment. Merlin quickened his pace, trying not to trip over his own feet all the way. Agravaine would be awaiting Lord Macedonius in the castle courtyard; there was no time to let him know of Arthur's absence beforehand. For the first time in years, Merlin wished he'd gotten up on time.

Alright, not really. Old people were supposed to need their sleep, lots more than the young men and women running the castle. According to Gaius, anyway—it was the man's excuse for getting Merlin to do most of the manual labor and gathering of herbs. He'd had to refrain from saying that had that statement been accurate, _Gaius_ should be the one out getting medicinal plants and such. Not that he'd mean that anymore than as just a witty comeback. Gaius was much too old (for someone who was not Merlin) to be doing such things now.

Merlin shook himself out of his thoughts upon reaching the doors to the courtyard. Pressing an ear to the aging wood, he deduced that the lord had not yet arrived. Things were silent, with the exception of impatient shuffling and whispers of gossip. Pushing open the door only slightly, Merlin slipped past and into the open, gaining many stares. Given that most grumbled and looked back to the courtyard gates, Merlin assumed they had thought he was the king, not the king's useless manservant.

Lord Agravaine de Bois was the only one to hold his gaze on Merlin. Hurrying over to the man, he bowed his head in respect and said, "My lord, his majesty is not feeling well this morning—he asks that you take his duties for today, including greeting the Lord Macedonius."

That had to be the most respectful thing he'd said to anyone. Agravaine's startled face only helped to support that observation. "Yes—yes, of course. Do tell Arthur I hope he feels better soon, and not to worry; I'll be sure to keep Camelot running until he is well enough to return." He smiled at Merlin, a gesture he did not return. It was a feral smirk, one of the many things about Agravaine that... well, aggravated him. He stifled his laughter at the small joke.

"Thank you, my lord. I'll be sure to give Arthur your message." He started to turn to the door, but stopped when a knight riding a stark white horse rode into the courtyard. His shout of, "The Lord Macedonius is here!" caught Merlin's attention. Right at the door, his hand on its handle, Merlin slipped back inside. He didn't close the door, though, keeping it open just enough to have a decent view of the yard.

Horses with foreign knights and a man and woman dressed regally atop them flooded in through the gates. Agravaine visibly prepared himself to step down the flight of stairs to greet the lord and his lady. Merlin's eyes skimmed the crowd of men curiously. He wasn't sure why, but there was something... familiar about one of them. Maybe more—he wasn't sure. It was like his magic was pointing out something he couldn't spot himself. He knew it was there (there was no mistaking what his magic was trying to tell him; it was riling up inside of him like angry ocean waves, needing to get his attention), he just needed a little nudge in the right direction to who his magic had identified.

The man and woman dismounted their horses once close enough to the greeting party. Lord Agravaine walked down the marble steps, his boots clacking against it, his arm held out in a display of friendship. "Ah, Lord Macedonius, it is good to see you again." His grin looked faked even from where Merlin stood, meters away. They shook hands. Merlin leaned forward subconsciously, trying to hear more of the conversation.

Lord Macedonius smiled politely back. "It is good to see you as well, Agravaine." His magic lurched inside of him; it was the visiting lord his magic was trying to pinpoint. The man's features were fuzzy and indistinguishable from so far away—had he not know the man's name, he could have been anyone.

After giving his mandatory welcomes to the lord and lady, Agravaine and Macedonius slowly made their way up the stairs, shaking hands and exchanging words with the other members of the court. "_Gwella gweledigaeth_," he whispered, blue eyes glowing gold. It was a spell he'd created years ago, allowing his vision to enhance dramatically. It was very useful when snooping around in other people's business, something Merlin tended to do much too often.

The once-blurred face of Lord Macedonius sharpened, and it hit Merlin like Arthur's blade during training. The man's skin was wrinkled, but his green eyes sparkled just as bright as when they'd first met. His black hair was peppered with white. He couldn't believe he hadn't seen it sooner.

He knew this man. He knew this man very, very well. Memories he'd stored in the back of his mind years ago suddenly made themselves known again. Merlin's mouth fell open, just slightly, on its own accord. His eyes widened owlishly.

After all, it wasn't often Merlin ran into a former student.

**There's only a rough plot right now, and I am more than up for suggestions. What would you like to see me put these two through? Ideas for the reveal(s)? Drop me a review, let me know what you thought of the chapter and what you'd like to see in future updates. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer:**__ I don't own Merlin._

**Made for Immortality**

**Chapter Two**

It had been years since Merlin had seen little Macedonius. In his memory, the lord was still a young man, barely twenty—and that was only from the day he'd left. He could remember when he was but a child, inquisitive and bounding about the castle with never ending amounts of energy. He'd gone by Mace then, the little lord-to-be, known by his father's staff and servants as the rambunctious, sweet little boy who never failed to bring smiles to their faces.

It was... _strange_ seeing him like this. He had gotten old—he looked almost three times Merlin's physical age. Merlin tended to take great care in avoiding people from his past, for those encounters were likely to bring about some very... interesting questions. He'd had luck on his side for quite some time, too.

_Well_, he thought dryly. _There's a first time for everything_.

He could still remember the day he'd met the boy and his father. He'd been wandering the land, his only possessions the clothes on his back and a small bag of coins for food and shelter. He didn't usually stay in the same place for too long, as his lack of aging would become quite noticeable after a certain amount of time. At the time, he'd only just said his goodbyes to the kind people of a small village on Camelot's border. They'd been sad to see him go, eating up the lies about his mother being ill and him having to go care for her—it was the same as all the times before it. After so long, he thought he'd have gotten another excuse. Then again, Merlin had never been that great of a liar. He'd probably just end up making himself look like a fool if he tried another lie. Besides, the pain from his mother's illness and eventual death still managed to ache, no matter that it occurred hundreds of years ago. At least he could say _that_ was real.

The castle had been small, that he could remember. So much smaller than Arthur's—he was the _king_, after all—and noticeably dwarfed by the other lords' homes. It was old, ivy and moss creeping up its sides. The stones that gave it substance were crumbling in places (something Merlin had remedied within his first month there, unwilling to let it crumble to the ground—tens of people worked inside the structure; a collapse like the one Merlin had predicted would have killed them _all_), causing him to believe this castle was far older than most. He'd asked the lord—_Merek_, if he remembered correctly—but the man simply shrugged; he'd said he knew nothing of the castle's origins, except that it had been here when he was born, when his father was born, and when his father's father had been born.

Merlin couldn't help but wonder what had happened to the man.

He had been walking for days when he'd met them. Just walking down the same, winding road. Not once had he seen another walk past. So, naturally, it had been a shock to find two people, mounted atop glossy, pitch black horses, making their way down the worn path. They hadn't been dressed as nobles, nor did they have the characteristic knights following them protectively. No, they looked like two travelers—a father and a son, perhaps—lucky enough to have found an inn close by. They must have, Merlin could remember thinking. They had been much too clean to have been riding for very long without some sort of break. Why Arthur insisted he was an idiot, he didn't think he'd ever know. Would an _idiot_ have noticed something as small as that?

"Excuse me, sirs?" Merlin had asked. The older one, sporting a well-tended to beard, halted his steed. "Yes?" he had said, not unkindly.

"I don't suppose you could help direct me to the nearest inn?" he'd inquired, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. He'd tried not to grimace at the feeling of his unwashed hair. "I was hoping to actually have a bed to sleep in tonight, if you know what I mean." He laughed.

The man's face creased in sympathy, although Merlin hadn't known what for. They were travelers, the same as him. Travelers had to, more than not, go without shelter for many nights to get where they were going. They were just lucky enough to afford horses. Merlin's light money pouch restricted him from buying such a luxury.

"There aren't many inns here," he had said. Merlin cursed inwardly. "But I can offer you a bed to sleep in should you need it." The man had studied him for a moment before continuing. "It certainly looks as though you do. My home is not far from here, it's just a mile away."

"Oh! Er..." Merlin trailed off, more than a little surprised at the offer. "I wouldn't want to intrude or be of any inconvenience—"

"Nonsense!" the man had boomed, laughing. "I insist!"

Merlin smiled, gracious. "Well, then, I'd like that very much..."

"Merek," the man supplied.

"I'd like that very much, then, Merek," Merlin had said, tasting the new name on his tongue. "I'm Merlin."

* * *

"_Merlin_!"

The double doors had flown open without much warning. Merlin barely avoided getting hit in the chin by just a hair—his magic had warned him only a split second before, giving him just enough time to avoid injury.

For a little while, anyway. Agravaine's face suggested he was in big trouble, and with Arthur's uncle, there wouldn't be any sort of watered down punishments in his future. Not when Arthur was unavailable to vouch for him and convince the man of Merlin's _unfortunate mental affliction_.

He lay there on the polished marble, gazing up wide-eyed at the two lords and lady. Agravaine was angry, his face reddened with rage. The lady was peering over the two men's shoulders curiously. She didn't seem to recognize him, and her flowing red hair and blue eyes continued to feel unfamiliar, which was a blessing in itself; he already had one loose end to deal with—he didn't need another.

Merlin's blue eyes shifted unwillingly to Macedonius. He could feel anxiety knotting in his chest, his heart beating unnaturally fast. What would he think of him? Would he hate him for leaving so abruptly? What of all the lies? Oh, the _lies_... He despised lying. They led to nothing but anguish. He'd lived through enough of that for a lifetime; several, even. Merlin averted his eyes once more—he still hadn't looked Macedonius directly in the eye, and if he could get away with it, he'd prefer to never see the man again. He didn't want to confront the man when he was sure he felt nothing but contempt for his former teacher. And if he didn't feel any sort of animosity toward him now, he would after.

The man's green eyes were wide with shock, and his skin was pale. His mouth had gone slack. Yes, the man was definitely not expecting to see his old teacher, as young as ever, lying on the floor of Camelot's royal castle after being caught spying. _Quite frankly, it would have been weird for him to expect it_, he couldn't help but think, his mind in a daze. Merlin laughed weakly, the slight tremble in it added by his unease. He waved. "Hi..."

Agravaine was seething. He gritted his teeth and took a deep, calming breath. "_Merlin_..." he hissed dangerously. "Get up. Leave. _Now_."

"Yes, milord," Merlin said, more than happy to please. _Anything_ to get away from Macedonius. Even sleeping in a jail cell or spending the rest of the day in the stocks getting fruit thrown at him was preferable to speaking with the visiting lord. Merlin scrambled to his feet, almost falling flat on his face in his haste. He was almost to the nearest staircase, just a few more footfalls away, when Agravaine called him back. "On second thought, Merlin..."

Merlin shuffled to a stop. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists in frustration. What was it _now_? He was so close to his escape. He reluctantly turned back to face the lord, looking directly at Agravaine and nowhere else. "Yes, _my lord_?" A tinge of disrespect could be detected in Merlin's tone, although he was sure Agravaine had missed it. If he did, he didn't let it show.

"Escort Lord and Lady Vane to their guest chambers and I'll let this little... _mishap_ slide." _No... no no_ no, he thought, panicked. The fear was back. It had receded with the promise of never seeing Macedonius' face again, but flooded back with that _traitor's_ words. Worse yet, the guest chambers were several floors up. Anxiety gripped his heart once more. Oh, gods, he hated this. He _really_ hated this.

Why did Agravaine have to send _him_ to do it? Why not do it himself? Or have a guard do it? There were plenty of those to go around!

"Yes, milord," he muttered, grudgingly making his way back toward them. His hands were cold and clammy, his body shivering involuntarily with barely restrained fear and crippling anxiety. _Keep it together, Merlin. Keep it together..._

Merlin only just registered Agravaine saying his goodbyes to the lord and lady. Macedonius must have gotten over his shock somewhat, as he smiled and thanked the man, shaking hands with him once more. The entourage dispersed, people being sent this way and that. Merlin didn't really care enough to listen. His eyes were still glued to the cold stone beneath his feet, only managing to bring them back upwards at the lady's polite cough.

"Oh... um..." Everything was in a haze. All possible words left his mind the moment he laid eyes on Macedonius. The man looked confused, yet resigned. Almost... _happy_. He shivered again. "This way," he squeaked. If Arthur were here, he was sure he'd never let him live this down. At least he could take a little relief from the prat sleeping like a rock in his personal chambers, instead of being down here to witness his manservant's panic attack.

"Ma— _Merlin_..." Merlin realized with a jolt he had almost called him _master_. Sentiment and nostalgia came crashing like a wave. He noted a disbelieving undertone to Macedonius' voice, layered with unease and a need for understanding. After all, what part of this situation made even a grain of sense?

Merlin cleared his throat. "This way, milord," he tried again, his voice stronger. He ignored Macedonius' call and walked quickly to the stairs. Much faster than he had any right to be going.

"I _know_ it's you! _Merlin_!"

"Yes, my lord?" Still avoiding the other man's eyes, he acted as though he hadn't heard Macedonius' first exclamation. Merlin tried to keep calm. He really, truly did. _Just treat him like you would any other lord..._ "Did you have a question?" Was it hot in here? It certainly felt warm. Their voices echoed against the thankfully empty halls. He stood at the base of the staircase people just wouldn't seem to let him go up.

"Merlin, come here. Please."

He stood there for a moment. His mind was blank, the only thought running through his head was _run run run_ like he always did when people got too close to the truth. It was a lonely life, sure, filled with regrets and friendships based on nothing but lies, lies and even more _lies_. It made him sick just to think about it.

The silence was tense and awkward and thick. It stretched on for what felt like hours, but could have only been minutes, maybe even seconds. Macedonius sighed, seeming to have decided Merlin wasn't going to answer him.

"Alright, just... take us to our room, I guess." He sounded less like the lord he had been a moment prior, and more like the boy he had left behind all those years ago. _I didn't even say goodbye..._

Trepidation was slowly giving way to sadness, regret for everything that had entailed. It was all his fault, after all. Then again, wasn't it always?

The walk up to their guest chambers was... _awkward_, to say the very least. The lady—Merlin realized he never learned her name—had given the pair of them series of inquisitive glances; looking back, he recognized the oddness of their not-conversation earlier. If he were her, to say he would be curious would be a severe understatement. Who wouldn't be curious? A lord having some sort of past relation to a mere serving boy? He'd come across curiouser, but still...

She was a quiet one, for sure. Blending into the background, she did not hold Merlin's attention for very long. That really wasn't saying much, as he wasn't paying a whole lot of attention to anyone after his reunion with Macedonius. The very thought of it still put shocks down Merlin's spine. What were the odds of them crossing paths again? They seemed pretty slim to him. Fate had, once again, done the (almost) impossible.

They hadn't spoken once on the way up. It was a tense silence no one bothered to break; even a blade forged in the breath of a dragon would have trouble hacking through it. Merlin had simply held the door of their rooms open for them, gave a slight nod, and shut it closed again. Macedonius didn't even acknowledge him, which Merlin supposed he deserved. The lady had given him a soft _thank you_, which surprised him; it was the first he'd heard the woman speak all day.

He was headed down to Gaius' chambers now, thinking. The sun wasn't even at its highest point in the sky and he already felt drained. And to think he had assumed today's greatest concern would be Arthur's headache.

... Of whom was still awaiting medication for said headache. Just thinking about something as trivial as pain reliever for Arthur helped relieve the pent-up tension in Merlin's shoulders. If the clotpole had woken up at all after his departure earlier that morning, it was safe to say he'd receive a thorough talking to later for his dawdling. Maybe even an hour or two in the stocks. On most days, the idea made him frown in distaste. Today, it was enough to make him smile.

**Whew! That turned out to be a lot longer than I thought! Or maybe it just seems long since I spent all day writing it? I think I'm pretty pleased with it, though. Man, I'm on a roll! I can only go downhill from here! Awesome...**

**Please, REVIEW! Then maybe I'll manage to keep a semi-regular updating schedule! Wouldn't that be great?!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A big thanks to everyone who reviewed, faved and followed! You've been really keeping me going! Let's hope I can keep that up. I want to give a big shout out to michalgalek, who gave me loads of awesome ideas that will really help shape the plot, especially Merlin's past. Anyways, enjoy!**

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Merlin_._

**Made for Immortality**

**Chapter Three**

Merlin's birthday was sometime in summer; his mother had said it was the longest day she had seen, giving him a birth date somewhere around the summer solstice, if not the solstice itself. They couldn't be absolutely sure, of course, their tiny village having no possible way of telling the date besides going out and observing the weather. So that was what she did, determined to celebrate the day God had decided to bring her "little bundle of joy" into the world every year after. At least, that was what Merlin could recall being told. He couldn't remember as much of his mother as he would have liked. The lines of her face blurred with each passing day. Had she had sky blue eyes such as his, or forest green ones? Perhaps they were hazel, or maybe as gray as the stubborn storm clouds that would never seem to leave the sky of his hometown? That was something he could remember quite clearly.

He closed his eyes and sighed, weary. How he could envision, even now, the exact shade of the clouds that plagued them overhead and the constant pitter patter of rain on the damp ground in his childhood, but not remember the color of his mother's eyes? The shape of her face? The sound of her voice? It made him want to cry. To curse his terrible memory and his carelessness in letting such precious memories slip away.

The bright sun was peeking in through his bedroom window, warming him from his place under the covers. He was huddled there, despite the uncomfortable heat, thinking. It was just yesterday that Arthur had met with the lord and lady for dinner; it was a private affair, with just the king, Macedonius, and his wife (of whom he had learned was called Wulfwyn) feasting upon roasted pig and sipping red wine. The lady Wulfwyn hadn't spoken much over their meal, refraining from voicing anything aside from the polite greetings and answering when addressed by the king. Macedonius and Arthur were the two carrying the conversation, talking about many trivial things (they had even considered going on a hunting trip together, something Merlin silently groaned over—Arthur was sure to bring Merlin along), and then about the reasons Macedonius had come to Camelot. Merlin had been one of the few servants there, holding a pitcher of Camelot's best wine mere feet away from the table. Arthur's back facing him, Merlin had had a clear view of Macedonius, of whom would glance at him curiously over his goblet now and again. They hadn't spoken since Merlin had escorted him and his wife to their chambers the day previous. It was now, two days later, that Merlin realized he would have to talk to the man sooner rather than later, lest he tell Arthur something, _anything_, to clue the man in on his past.

And that was simply unacceptable.

He knew he should be getting up, dressing before the day carried on without him. Walk down to the kitchens for Arthur's breakfast, before the prat eventually came down to Gaius' chambers, already dressed, hungry and irritated at Merlin. But he couldn't. Something that frivolous paled even more in comparison to the things running through his mind at the moment. No, Arthur could wait. Macedonius, however, could not.

So, his mind made up, Merlin threw off the covers and sat up. The hard mattress beneath him creaked loudly with his adjusted weight. He looked down at his wrinkled attire; he was wearing the exact same clothing as yesterday, including his lace-up boots and frayed jacket. _One less thing to think about_, Merlin thought, his eyes glowing gold. Immediately, his clothes brightened and lost their slept-in appearance. They looked as though they'd just been washed and dried, ready again for wear. Merlin managed a small smile and walked out the door.

Merlin was done avoiding his problems. The one before him now, at least. He didn't know what was bringing about this sudden bout of courage, let alone enough of it to go and confront the man he'd been planning on avoiding for as long as he could. What had changed? Merlin wasn't too sure, but knew without a doubt from many unfortunate past experiences that putting it off would do no good. That, and his guilt from when he'd left was welling up inside of him, along with memories of all his mistakes. Macedonius, it seemed, had triggered something in Merlin that he had been running from for a long time now.

Merlin always lived in the present, mostly due to his unwillingness to allow his regrets poison his view of the future. It was something that worked quite well, partnering up fantastically with his selective memory, and putting everything he didn't wish to ponder upon in a well-guarded "vault" in the back of his mind. He hadn't even thought about opening it in so many years. Merlin wondered vaguely if memories of his mother had somehow been placed there; the thought was immediately dismissed—why would he put something so precious in a place he didn't dare touch?

The trip up to Macedonius' chambers was a short one, occupied with thoughts of what he should say after knocking on the man's door. His ex-protege, a man he had abandoned for no other reason than to keep his secrets safe, should be angry at him; absolutely furious. So why wasn't he? Even when Merlin had ignored Macedonius' calls and acted like nothing more than a polite, unsuspecting servant, he hadn't seemed mad. Maybe a little frustrated, but the emotion Merlin had noticed most had been the of defeat. It had emanated from him, bleeding into his posture and his words, tainting him. This was not the confident, optimistic man Merlin had left almost fifty years ago. If there was one thing Merlin knew about Mace it was that he didn't just _give up_. Not when it came to his father or to his brother or to his serfs; he looked life's hardships in the eye when his mother had passed away, becoming the rock that kept his family going. He had kept _Merlin_ going, and had been the sole reason for him to get out of bed in the morning for nine years.

How had he not noticed it sooner?

A spike of concern made itself known, leaping in his chest and filling him with dread. What if something was wrong? What if something terrible had happened? On the last staircase to the guest halls, Merlin stopped dead and took a deep breath. _Calm down, Merlin_, he admonished. _Stop overreacting. You haven't seen the man in years and you don't expect him to have changed? Of course he's changed!_

Merlin began walking again, his mind barely registering the soft but resonating clicks of his heels against the marble. People always seemed to say that about him. It was always, _Merlin, it's just a scratch, I'm not dying_, and _Merlin, calm down, the world's not ending!_ Merlin realized with a jolt that all the times he had said something another had recognized as being over the top tended to, more than not, ring true. God knew how many times Merlin had saved the world from imploding or something equally awful, and how many people around him had died. He shivered and quickened his pace.

He tried to refrain from running to Mace's chambers, but found himself having to substitute with a jog. He knocked quietly but frantically against the wooden door, his palms already sweating in anticipation. He shivered again, his nerves besting him.

It took a moment, but after a few seconds of what sounded like disgruntled grumbling and shuffling, the door swung open to reveal Mace, still in his nightclothes. He never was a morning person, Merlin couldn't help but think, smiling wisfully. "Good morning, Little Lord." he said with a small bow of the head. _Little Lord_ had been Mace's nickname, given to him by the staff, Merlin included. Needless to say, it had become quite popular throughout the castle. "Did you sleep well?"

It was a strange parallel of the mornings in the Vane household. Merlin would be the one to wake him—the boy had declined a personal servant—and make sure he was ready for his lessons. It was a rush of deja vu, memories crashing into him like a waterfall. Someone had broken into the vault, and it was showing.

Mace was clearly shocked to see him here; after all, Merlin had been the one to say (in not so many words) that he wanted nothing to do with the man. Merlin could only hope he was happy to see he had changed his mind.

The lord's eyes had widened at the usage of his old nickname, but he recovered quickly. Sleep had left his eyes, but they still carried a weariness no amount of sleep could fix. There was a moment of awkward, yet somehow comfortable, silence, before Mace said anything. "... Come in, then," he said, moving back to let him in. Merlin nodded his head jerkily and entered, fear seeping back in. Why had he wanted to do this, again? What were the benefits of this? He could feel tremors running up and down his spine, his nerves like a goblet of water about to overflow. Merlin only just noticed the lady—Wulfwyn—sitting on the bed with a heavy brush in her hands. Unlike her husband, she had already dressed.

"Why did you come here?" Mace asked, his voice holding a geniune curiousity. "I thought I'd have to back you into a corner before you'd give up and talk to me. But, then again, I can already see where you would best me in such a situation." His mouth upturned slightly, his eyes filled with mirth. Merlin smiled, recognizing the reference. Wulfwyn was still sitting on the bed, her gaze having moved to the other side of the room. She had resumed her brushing.

"I... came to ask if you were alright." Merlin answered. "You seem... different."

Mace laughed. "Well, it has been fifty years since we've last spoken." Despite his laughter, his eyes looked sad. Instead of looking at Mace, Merlin was staring at Wulfwyn, his eyes wide. Why did he have to go and say it like that? What if she said something—anything? Could she even be trusted? The small, rational part of Merlin's mind told him this was all hearsay; Mace was hardly an idiot, and if he didn't think the woman was trustworthy he would have moved their conversation elsewhere. His anxiety spiked. His heart was racing faster than ever, causing the blood to pump loudly in his ears. He could feel each thump in his chest, the gap between each beat closing fast. Mace noticed this, and was quick to reassure. "You can trust her—she won't say a thing. I trust her with my life."

"You're sure?" He knew it was useless; she already knew. Maybe even before now—she didn't look the least bit surprised. He just needed the extra assurance. Mace's face hardened and he said, "I'm sure."

Merlin breathed out in what was supposed to be a long, cleansing breath. It didn't really help. He ran a sweaty palm through his hair, making it stick up and probably making him look like an idiot. Merlin found he didn't really care much. "So... _are_ you alright?"

If Merlin had thought the man looked tired before, it was nothing compared to the look on his face now. He looked like a beaten dog, his eyes downcast and his back arched in a slouch. He looked nothing like a noble, and more like a man who had been though hell and back. And that was exactly what Merlin had feared.

Mace sat down on the bed, and with one exchanged glance with his wife, Wulfwyn stood up and left for an adjoining room, shutting the door softly as she exited. Merlin's eyes watched her as she moved, and shifted back to face Mace. Mace simply patted the downy mattress beside him. Merlin sat.

"You remember my brother, Bradyn?" Dread filled Merlin, and it felt as though a large fist were trying to crush his heart in its fingers. He forced a weak laugh. "Of course I do. How is he?" _Please let him be alright, please, oh, please..._

Mace smiled. Merlin felt as though Sir Percival had punched him in the gut. It wasn't a happy smile. It was sad, accepting, and defeated. _He had given up._ "Why? What's happened?" Desperation leaked into his tone, but Merlin found that he didn't care. Oh, that precious little boy, only eleven at the time Merlin had left.

"He's joined Morgana."

Merlin felt as though the world had been pulled out from underneath him, leaving him with nothing but air to float on. "_W- what_?" Little Brady? Joining _Morgana_? He should have been there for the boy, there to tell him that magic was not a thing to be used for harm, to be used responsibly, just like the sword he had given him on his tenth birthday. Merlin couldn't believe it. And he had no doubt that it showed plain as day on his face. What had the world come to when such a sweet, innocent little boy was joining the most ruthless of evils Merlin had ever encountered?

Of course, he hadn't seen that _little boy_ in fifty years. He was _sixty_ now.

Merlin felt dazed, his mind clouded with disbelief and unacceptance. How? _How_ could this have come to pass?

**Sorry nothing much really happened in this chapter, but I think the next one should be a fair bit more interesting. I'm planning on writing it in Arthur's POV—he's rather hard for me to write, but I'll definitely try my best! Hey, anyone see _Breaking Bad_ on Sunday? I'm dying to see what's going to happen next! I highly recommend you guys try it out if you haven't seen it—it is SO GOOD. And guess what? Most of the episodes are on Netflix right now! Go check it out if you haven't already!**

**Um. Review? :3 They'll help me update faster! And, again, things you want to see in the plot are always welcome to me—it'll keep things interesting. ...Shutting up now.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Just to let you all know, I will be butchering season four unrecognizably. I didn't realize that when I started, but as I've turned to Merlin Wikia for little things I've forgotten since my last viewing of the season, this has already become more AU than I originally intended. Oh, well. Some of the important things before I go on: it's been a year since Uther died and Arthur became king. Gwen and Arthur are NOT engaged. Any episodes after **_**His Father's Son**_** have absolutely no relevance. I'll be sure to say if things change. Oh, and there are other things I changed in one of the earlier seasons, something I'd say if it wasn't a spoiler of what is to come. :) Keep an eye out for it!**

**And another thing: I've been trying some foreshadowing, little hints in either dialogue or inner thoughts that are telling of things to come, both big and small. So read closely! :)**

**Enjoy!**

_**Disclaimer:**__ I don't own _Merlin_._

**Made for Immortality**

**Chapter Four**

Arthur was furious. That _useless_ servant of his had, yet again, failed to wake him on time. Merlin was just lucky the king didn't have anything important to do that morning—if he had missed another council meeting, like _last_ time, it would have been a _week_ in the stocks, at _least_.

"You better have a good reason for this, Merlin," he grumbled, making his way down the stairs to Gaius' chambers. He just hoped he didn't run into anyone on his way there—he was pretty sure he'd put his shirt on wrong that morning.

Merlin hadn't come, so he had woken up an hour after he was supposed to be fed, dressed, outside, and training with his knights. A king was meant to be punctual, well-fed, and well-dressed. It was almost a law, unspoken as such but there nonetheless. It was simple convention. But, then again, since when had _Camelot_ been a conventional kingdom? It felt as though it had become even less so upon Merlin's arrival all those years ago.

He could feel his stomach clenching uncomfortably, hunger clawing at his insides. Had Merlin managed to come at all, no matter how late (something Arthur had grown far too accustomed to over the years), Arthur may have been able to let it pass. Not coming at all, causing the king to miss the most important meal of the day, was simply unacceptable.

And, no—King Arthur Pendragon was not, and never would be, _fat_.

He jogged the last few steps to Gaius' chamber doors and rapped his knuckles on the hard wood. "Merlin? Gaius?" he shouted. He waited a moment, and knocked again. "Is someone in there?"

Silence was his only answer. If Merlin wasn't here, then where was he? Arthur seethed quietly, his frustration at his servant mounting. "_Mer_lin," he said to the door. "You'd better open this door right _now_ and haul your _lazy ass_ up to the kitchens to get _my_ breakfast, or so help me I will _break_ this door down and _make_ you!" It was a little overdone, he admitted, but if that was what it took to get Merlin working, Arthur could care less.

More silence. It rang in his ears, a kind of loudness that could only come from quiet. Irritated, Arthur tried to shove the door open, and was surprised to find that it swung forward with ease. It hit the inside wall with a bang, before reverberating back at a snail's pace. Arthur grimaced.

The physician's chambers were empty of its occupants, leaving only its characteristic clutter in their wake. Irritation was now replaced with confusion, followed by a flutter of worry. What if something had happened to them? He shook off the thought immediately. _Don't be stupid_, he thought. _Merlin's probably just slacking off again._

Yes. That had to be it. The idiot thought he could get out of his chores by just not showing up. At least, that was what the king was trying to tell himself.

It wasn't working.

No matter how many times Arthur had told Merlin how he was lazy, cowardly, or stupid, he found that he didn't mean it. How could he? He may have thought that at first, when the young man was first employed as the then-prince's servant, but over the years it became clear to Arthur that Merlin was anything but. If Merlin didn't turn up for work, something was wrong.

Probably. There were always exceptions to the rule.

Arthur exited the room. Looking around the hallways just outside, he hoped to get a glimpse of the black-haired man, but found no one. The halls were empty, save the occasional guard stationed at the castle's corners. The closest was at the base of another staircase, all the way at the end of the long hallway. He walked toward the man. "You there," Arthur called, waving to him. "Have you seen my manservant go past?" He didn't bother to describe him; everyone in the castle knew the man. "The lazy sod didn't show up for work."

The guard looked startled for a moment under his helmet. He managed to recover quickly enough, and said, "I saw him go up these stairs, milord, just ten minutes ago." Arthur stared at him, puzzled; what was Merlin doing up there? The only thing Arthur could think of that could be found there were the guest chambers, where visiting kings and queens and lords and ladies would reside while in Camelot. Camelot's castle was housing just two guests of that sort that morning: Lord and Lady Vane. Arthur hadn't assigned Merlin to tend to them. Not this time. What was he doing up there?

"Thank you," Arthur said, not meeting the other man's eyes. His gaze was glued on the staircase in front, curious. _What are you up to now, Merlin?_ A thought struck him. Merlin could be up to something incredibly stupid. He had an annoying tendency of doing such things, and hadn't shown any signs of stopping. Arthur swore the man would bring him an early death.

Ascending the staircase, Arthur's thoughts were racing. What was Merlin doing up here? Was he in trouble? He began to walk faster. He was in the hallway now. Merlin had a habit of pissing off the wrong people. Arthur was the one left with getting him out of it. Like now, he assumed. And it was a perfectly safe assumption at that. He just hoped he got there before things got out of hand.

Arthur would never admit it, not in a million years, but he loved Merlin like he would a brother. They were just as close, and certainly as protective. They bickered like siblings, shoving and kicking and letting insults fly without mercy. His father certainly wouldn't have approved, telling him as he had time and time again how Merlin was but a servant, and how he was prince. _King_ now, which would have only made his father all the angrier. Now that Arthur was king, he was hellbent on making things in his kingdom right again. He had respected his father's reign, but it was _his_ turn now. It was Arthur's turn to shape Camelot into the great land he believed it could and had every right to be.

Before Merlin had come to Camelot and picked a fight with the crown prince, Arthur had believed his father could do no wrong. His father was his idol, and all he did was done to please him. He had strived to become the best of knights, to exceed in skill against every knight his kingdom boasted. And yet his father had never spoken any of the words Arthur had felt he needed to hear. It sounded terribly womanly in his mind, which made him cringe, but it was _true_. Without his mother, Arthur's childhood had been devoid of that doting parent, the one willing to hug and smile and laugh with him. His father would never allow himself to be seen in such a way, not even by his own son. That much Arthur had gathered.

Arthur felt himself bump into someone hard.

"Oh!"

"Guinevere!"

"I'm so sorry, my lord!" Guinevere apologized, bowing as well as she could when bent over on her hands and knees, gathering all the laundry she had dropped, and shoving it back into the hamper by her side. "I wasn't looking where I was going—"

"It's alright, Guinevere." Arthur smiled, kneeling beside her. "And it's Arthur, remember?" Gwen blushed. "Of course."

He helped her gather the strewn clothing and bedding. They worked in silence, him only speaking up when the last linen was folded and placed neatly at the top of the rest. It was still warm from the sun outside where it had dried. Arthur stood and offered a hand to help Gwen; her cheeks flushed red again, and she took the hand.

"Guinevere, I don't suppose you've seen Merlin around here, have you?"

She shook her head. "No, m— Arthur," she said, smiling. "Why?"

Arthur shrugged. "He didn't show up this morning. A guard downstairs said he came up here."

She frowned. "Up here? Whatever for?" They began to walk down the empty hall.

"I don't know; that's what I intend to find out." He paused, and glanced at the laundry-filled basket she was holding. "Where are you taking those?"

She adjusted the basket uncomfortably in her arms. Arthur hefted it out of her grasp. "Oh— m— Arthur, you— you don't have to—" she stuttered, blushing furiously. "I insist. Merlin can wait," Arthur said, praying silently the idiot wasn't in any real trouble. "Now, where are we taking these?"

"Lord and Lady Vane's chambers."

Arthur was surprised, and a little relieved. "Really? That's fortunate."

"What is?" Gwen asked, confused.

"I was just about to pay them a visit," he said. "The guard downstairs told me he was probably somewhere in the guest hall, and they are our only guests—I can't think of any other reason for him to be up here."

Gwen looked confused. "That still doesn't make any sense—but, then again, you never know with Merlin." She grinned. Arthur couldn't help but laugh. "Yes, you're certainly right about that—who knows what's going on in that head of his half the time?"

She giggled. "Here we are," she said. Arthur stopped walking, and Gwen approached the door, raising her hand to knock. She stopped abruptly at the sound of shouting, making her jump.

"—_of course it's all my fault! If I hadn't been such a coward and left, none of this would have ever happened!_" There was a slight pause, lasting barely half a second. Arthur's eyes widened, his heart stopping as he recognized the voice; _Merlin_.

_"NO!" _Merlin roared angrily; Arthur's pulse quickened, as if making up for halting just a second prior. His manservant really was an idiot if he was yelling at a _lord_ _of Camelot_. He tried to move, to grab the door handle, to intervene before it got much worse. _Although_, he mused distantly,_ I think it may be a little late for that_.

"_Don't you dare. Don't you _dare_ try to pin it on anyone else but me. It's my fault Bradyn's joined her, it's even _my_ fault she's like this. Don't you see? It's always _my fault_! I never seem to be able to do the right thing!_" _What is he talking about?_ Shock welled up inside of Arthur, along with concern. What had happened to Merlin? Arthur knew the man like the back of his hand; Merlin wouldn't harm a fly, let alone be the cause for anything as terrible as what he seemed to be describing. And where did this visiting lord fit into the picture? Arthur couldn't be sure, but he could swear he could hear muffled sobs behind the wooden door. Gwen, wide-eyed and frightened, looked back at him, her hand still poised to knock. She looked just as shocked as he felt.

Arthur blinked. Merlin had gone to yell at a _lord_. Why? Why would he _do_ that? What was he talking about, it being his _all his fault_? Why would he be yelling that at Lord Macedonius? Who was _her_?

And who was _Bradyn_?

It was silent now, aside from some quiet shuffling behind the door. He could see the shadows moving on the floor, starting from the glowing gap under the door and ending at Arthur's feet. His arms twitched around the basket he was holding, reminding him it was still there. He continued to stand there for what felt like hours.

Finally, he set the clothing down, and moved toward the door. Gwen had stumbled back a few steps, before settling right behind Arthur. She was wringing her hands nervously.

Arthur's mind was blank, but it felt to him like his thoughts should be running too fast to clearly analyze. He felt confusion, shock, and fear for Merlin; after all, the lord would certainly be upset. Wouldn't he? _Why wouldn't he?_ he wondered. _He's having a _servant_ yell at him._ No lord in his right mind would take kindly to such actions. There was no reason for Arthur to assume that this one would be any different.

Most lords Arthur had met were all the same—they always seemed to be greedy bastards who thought themselves superior to everyone, sometimes even to Arthur himself. The lord Macedonius had been nothing but respectful during their dinner discussion, but weren't they all? Simply biding their time before asking for something—of which usually turned out to be money. The worst lord Arthur could recall having the pleasure of meeting was Lord Alphonsus. And it hadn't been because he had asked for anything; no, he had come to speak with his father about ridding the land of magic, likely to try and on his father's good side. He had been thirteen at the time, but could remember the visit as though it had happened yesterday. He could remember the man's face, blood sprayed across his features in tiny droplets, his sword at his side, dripping red into the green grass. The body slumped over at his feet had been a young boy of only sixteen; he had been but a stablehand, the one charged with caring for the lord's horse for the week his visit had taken.

Alphonsus had thrust his blade through the boy's stomach on the last day before his departure, simply because he had failed to saddle the horse properly.

Arthur shivered at the thought. The image had been ingrained in his memory, never budging, and just as clear as the day it had occurred. He could still see the shock on the young stablehand's face, frozen in death. Suddenly, his imagination had the body morph into that of Merlin, wearing the same fear-filled expression, and the lord standing strong above him became the sneering figure of Macedonius. Terror seized him, sending a violent spasm up and down his spine. His heart began to pump, and he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. He couldn't let that happen again.

He quickly closed the space between him and the door, and shoved it open, hard. He fully expected it to be locked, but it swung open just as easily as the physician's had. It hit the inside wall hard, the consequential sound resounding throughout the room. Arthur froze, shocked at what he saw. A wave of relief still made itself known, giving him an almost light-headed feeling. And then there was the confusion. It clouded his senses, and seemed to drown out everything else. He could feel Gwen at his shoulder, bumping into him at his sudden stop.

Instead of his horrible vision of bloody swords and dead servants, Merlin was just fine. And Macedonius looked as far from murdering Merlin as he possibly could.

The lord, in place of shoving his blade through Merlin's gut, was _hugging_ him. And Merlin—Merlin was _crying_. He had been leaning up against the lord, as if for support, shaking with his face buried in the older man's shoulder.

Upon the door being thrown open, Merlin and the lord had quickly separated from their embrace—but not quick enough—and were now shifting and trying to make it look as though nothing were amiss. Merlin was wiping his eyes and nose with his sleeve, trying and failing to be inconspicuous in doing so. Arthur felt a pang of surprise at the look of fear on his servant's face. What did Merlin have to be scared of? The lord was a bit more successful in looking as though nothing was wrong. He adjusted his nightclothes accordingly, and regarded the king calmly. "Good morning, your majesty," he smiled. "And to what do I owe the honor?"

**I'm really not too sure how I feel about this chapter (it took me **_**days**_**), so, like it or hate it, please, tell me your thoughts. They could really help me improve. :)**

**Review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Much thanks to everyone who's reviewed, faved and followed! You guys make my day. :)**

_**Disclaimer**__: I don't own _Merlin_._

**Made for Immortality**

**Chapter Five**

"Merlin, go saddle the horses. Bring them to the courtyard when you're finished; we'll be leaving within the hour."

"Yes, sire," Merlin said, bowing his head slightly. Arthur frowned.

"Yes, well, off you go," he said. "No need to linger."

"Of course, sire," Merlin agreed, nodding to him once more. Arthur's frown deepened in thought. Merlin turned on his heel, his eyes downcast, and left.

Arthur had thought of saying something. He didn't know what, but he knew he should have. Merlin had been acting strangely for days, ever since Arthur had found him yelling at a castle guest; a lord of Camelot, at that. The king just thought himself lucky that he hadn't angered a _foreign leader_—not that Merlin hadn't done so before. Multiple times.

He had been... _submissive_. Quiet. Frightened? Arthur wasn't sure. But that was the point of all this, wasn't it? To get away from Camelot, to get his servant to open up? If not to him, then to the lord—because, of course, Lord Vane had to come along as well.

Not only had Arthur and Macedonius been thinking of going hunting during his visit (of which Arthur had had no intentions of going through with), it had also given fruition to a plan he was quite proud of. A plan to get Merlin to spill all of his dirty secrets.

And, contrary to _popular belief_ (Merlin), Arthur wasn't stupid—Merlin wasn't going to tell him what was going on willingly. Neither was the lord. Why would they? They hadn't earlier—so why would they now?—leading the young king to ponder upon less... moral of methods.

Spying. He was planning to spy on Merlin. Arthur couldn't help but feel guilty thinking about it—Merlin was his friend (his very closest, at that), and it felt too close to betrayal for Arthur's liking.

But he had it all planned out; every single detail. He would excuse himself from the camp, saying he needed to refill the water skins, leaving the two behind by themselves, hide behind a tree—or perhaps some shrubbery, depending on where they decided to set up camp—and wait. They'd be sure to speak eventually. He wouldn't be able to wait for too long, of course—if he waited too long Merlin would certainly become suspicious. The idiot would likely go out looking for him, worrying that Arthur was in trouble. He snorted at the thought. Bumbling, clumsy-as-hell Merlin. The same Merlin who claimed that he could _protect_ Arthur, but always failed to even lift a sword properly.

He sat in his chambers, trying to set his mind to finishing up the scattered paperwork littering his desk. They were telling of late taxes, magical complaints, and reports from his knights' patrols. Too many things to do in such a short amount of time. It made his head throb uncomfortably.

Massaging his temples methodically, Arthur decided to put it off. He knew it was a terrible idea—procrastination did not wear well on kings—but found that he couldn't bring himself to fill out paperwork on such petty things as taxes and suspicions of magic.

Not to mention his efforts to avoid the latter whenever he could.

Not everyone who practiced magic deserved to die, surely. Yet they were reported anyway, for doing simple tasks that caused no harm to anyone other than themselves, as was ensured upon their convictions.

Arthur couldn't help but feel shame at the thought—it was like he was breaking his own laws by just thinking about it. Magic was _illegal_. And here he was thinking how magic in Camelot _didn't_ deserve to be eradicated. What would his father have said? His knights? Guinevere? _Merlin_?

They'd be ashamed. They'd say they'd thought better of him. Merlin had always told him he'd be the greatest king Camelot had ever known—was he letting him down just thinking that? Thinking that magic, after being told of its evil by everyone he knew and trusted, could possibly be used for anything but?

He turned in his chair to the window behind him. He had a perfect view of the courtyard from his room, and everyone in it. His blue eyes shifted downwards, and he saw Merlin, three saddled and unmounted horses held in place by his servant. Looking back up a bit, he saw a pyre. Dread filled his gut, making him almost nauseous. It was being built from the base up, workers surrounding it and adding more wood and tinder. It was almost ready for a young sorceress, caught attempting to heal her fatally ill mother. She hadn't even succeeded—the woman had died just a day after the arrest. The arrest of a girl not even fifteen years of age. An _orphan_ now. It made Arthur's heart ache. It made him sick—since when had he been alright with executing children? She hadn't done anything wrong.

Arthur knew he could stop it. He felt as though he should. But...

But he wouldn't. Just as he hadn't interfered with the one before this and the one before that. It was a never-ending cycle of accusation, guilt, and acceptance. The conviction of the sorcerer, the guilt of doing so, and the self-tolerance of his eventual decision.

And yet he _hated_ himself for it.

* * *

"Good morning, Merlin!" Guinevere waved, skipping over to Merlin merrily with a basket swinging off her other arm.

Merlin weakly smiled back. "Hey, Gwen..."

"I don't suppose you've seen Arthur around, have you? I wanted to say goodbye... You know, before you guys leave..." She shuffled her feet awkwardly and blushed. Merlin smiled again, a genuine one now, and said, "He's still up in his chambers—he said he'd be down soon. And what about me?" he teased. "Don't I get a farewell? Or am I simply not worth it?"

Gwen's eyes widened and she looked stricken. "Oh, no, Merlin, that's not what I meant, of cour—" Merlin's laughter cut her off, and she looked embarrassed once more, and a little angry. She whacked him lightly on the arm. "Not funny, Merlin."

He laughed a little harder, and managed to choke out, "Where's your sense of humor, Gwen?"

"I don't know, I must have forgotten it at home this morning," she said dryly. Merlin guffawed, a little surprised at Gwen's uncharacteristic quip. She looked as though she was, too.

"I must be spending too much time with you all, you're rubbing off on me," she giggled.

Merlin grinned. "You say that like it's a bad thing!"

"Well..." she trailed off.

"Hey! I take offense to that."

She laughed. It wasn't long before Merlin joined her.

For a moment, Merlin felt as though he had managed to shake his nagging doubts and fears, even if all he was doing was poking fun and laughing with Gwen. They had been lingering, hanging over his head like an ax, ready to come down full-force with the right push. He didn't like to admit it, but he was scared. Scared of what would happen should any of them dig too deep into the happenings just a matter of days ago with Mace.

He didn't think they'd like what they'd be sure to find.

His past was shrouded with mystery, even to Merlin. The only things his friends thought they knew was that Merlin had lived in a small village in Cenred's kingdom, he had known a boy called Will, and he had been raised by his "mother", Hunith. All truths, albeit warped ones.

For Merlin, time had washed away detail, like imprints on the seashore, disappearing with every rushing tide. His childhood was gone almost entirely, memories of his family scarce and faint. He knew he'd had a mother. He _knew_ it. But what about siblings? Brothers? Sisters? Where had his father been? Had he been there at all? Or had he just forgotten?

Merlin patted the horse absentmindedly, his humor gone. He took a shaky breath. "Well, Gwen," he said, trying to muster up a smile, "I'd better see what's taking the prat so long to get down here. I've been down here for way longer than an hour!" he exclaimed.

Gwen giggled. She paused, and frowned. "Merlin?"

"Yeah?" He looked up at her, and dread deciding to return and settle in his stomach.

"... Are you alright?" _She must know something's wrong_, Merlin thought. _I have to try harder_.

"Yeah. Fine. _Peachy_, even. Why?"

"... No reason." Gwen shrugged, shooting him a concerned glance. "Just... You can talk to me, you know? If you need someone to talk to. Me—you can talk to me." She stumbled over her words, blushing and stuttering. "N- not that you _need_ to, I'm not saying that I think there's anything _wrong_ with you, it's just... I'm here for you, I guess I'm trying to say."

"Gwen," he said, placing a hand on her arm. "You're one of my best friends. As far as I'm concerned, all of that goes without saying. You can always speak to me, about anything—anything at all—and I feel as though I can talk to you about anything as well." His guilt decided to sit down right beside his dread and anxiety, threatening to break the bench that was him. The first part was true—of _course_ it was—as Gwen could most certainly talk to him about anything and everything. That was what friends did. But his problems were a bit more serious than boys or issues at work.

He took a deep breath and looked her in the eyes and said, "I'm perfectly alright, Gwen." _Liar_.

She smiled back at him, breathing out a relieved sigh. "Oh... that's good." Gwen paused, and offered, "I can go and talk to Arthur for you, Merlin—I'll be sure to tell him everything's ready to go." She gestured vaguely to the saddled horses and supplies. Merlin returned the smile halfheartedly, and said, "That would be great, Gwen. Thanks."

"Sure." She grinned up at him for a moment, before stepping close and hugging him fiercely. "Just in case I don't see you before you set off."

Merlin paused before wrapping his arms around her. He buried his face in her neck and closed his eyes. He may not have been able to confide in her his worries and fears, but he learned he could always find solace in her friendship.

**Yeah, not very long. Sorry, guys, but I wanted to get this up. And the reason it's so short is because this is at least only half of what I had planned, but... then I got lazy. *hides* Please don't kill me.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Big thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed and faved!**

_**Disclaimer**: I don't own_ Merlin.

**Made for Immortality**

**Chapter Six**

_"Mer_lin," Arthur drawled, "go and get us some firewood. It's getting dark."

"Yes, sire."

The sun was indeed setting over the horizon, shining through the trees and bathing them all in a golden light. Lord Vane, Arthur, and Merlin had ridden all day, stopping only when the sun had begun to descend from the sky.

Conversation had been awkward and sparse, an odd occasion with the notable lack of complaining from Merlin and the typical back-and-forth banter between them. It unnerved Arthur. _Hopefully Merlin will see sense by the time we get back to Camelot_, the young king couldn't help but pray.

Macedonius dismounted and aimed Merlin a look of concern. Merlin didn't seem to notice, and walked from the clearing into the trees.

Arthur gaze shifted between the two before his friend wandered out of sight. He sighed, and turned to tend to the horses. "Macedonius, why don't you..." Arthur tried to think of something to keep the man occupied. He opened his mouth again to say something, but was interrupted by the lord.

"If you don't mind, sire, I think I'll go and help your servant gather the firewood." He paused. "That is, if you do not wish for me to do something else."

A plan began to formulate in Arthur's mind. It was a flash of brilliance, or perhaps one of sheer luck and perfect coincidence. He smiled inwardly and replied, "No, that should be fine."

Macedonius nodded and headed after Merlin. Arthur watched him leave, his right hand settling on the hilt of his sword. His gloved fingers ran across its details, bumps and chips and jewels. It was certainly fit for a king.

He counted the seconds in his head, not wanting to leave too early and get caught, or leave too late and lose the lord and servant. Both would make the trip he'd planned useless and trivial, as Arthur had no time for hunting anymore. It was something he couldn't afford as ruler of a kingdom as large as Camelot. His time was as valuable as the gold that filled his vaults—Merlin was just lucky that Arthur didn't pay such a thing any mind.

A minute had passed—long enough for Macedonius to almost catch up with Merlin, he should think. Arthur breathed deeply and closed his eyes; guilt welled up in his belly, a feeling of dread and anxiety. Which was odd, Arthur couldn't help but think. _Since when do I get nervous?_

He clenched his fist tightly, and made for the trees. The horses were tended to and tethered, and their supplies still packed. Merlin wouldn't be happy to see the severe lacking of progress in setting up camp Arthur would appear to have made in their absence. Maybe that would help get him out of his funk. He'd take Merlin yelling at him as if he were the king and Arthur the servant any day, as opposed to the personal hell he'd been putting everyone around him through for days now.

Arthur crouched low, taking care to step lightly and not disturb the trees and other plants, as to alert anyone of his presence. He could hear voices in the distance, too far to make out beyond a small titter of sound. He grimaced when his sword hit against his steel armor, making the distinctive grating sound of metal on metal. He stopped and waited.

Nothing seemed amiss. He admitted he was being more than a little cautious, as there could be no way for them to hear such a sound. _Better to be safe than sorry_, he thought. He resumed his slow pace, concentrating on nothing save staying quiet and getting to the source of the voices. His brow furrowed.

It took longer than Arthur would have liked, but he eventually made it close enough to distinguish what had sounded like windswept whispers from the words that they were. He knelt behind a large tree, its trunk comfortably wide. He wasn't far from where the two had settled, which made his stomach flutter with anticipation and fear of being caught. He steeled himself, closed his eyes for a moment and listened.

"... Merlin, you need to calm down," came the old, raspy tones of Lord Vane. Arthur imagined him sitting, maybe on a fallen log—he could recall catching a glimpse of something similar just a moment before. There was the sound of shuffling, the crunch of little sticks and old dried leaves. Merlin must be pacing.

"But I can't! How can I, after all that's happened?" _What's happened?_

"Worrying doesn't help, you should know that by now, seeing how long you've been around."

What? That didn't make any sense.

There was a deep sigh. "Yes, I suppose. That doesn't make it any easier."

"Of course it does; it takes a load off the mind, now, doesn't it?"

A beat. "Sure."

Another, longer pause. "You've not said anything to the king, have you?" Since when did Merlin simply call him "the king"? He gritted his teeth in annoyance and slight anger.

"About what?"

"You know what."

_Why can't they just say it? Not all of us here know what you lot are talking about!_ Arthur thought, disgruntled.

"Why would I say anything about that? It would be a rather odd conversation starter, to say the least." Arthur raised a speculative brow at that. What sort of secret was Merlin hiding? How could he share it with an old lord and not Arthur? They were the friends here, weren't they?

"I can never be too sure."

"No, I suppose you can't. Considering how fast you left—without so much as a goodbye, if I might add." What? Arthur's brain worked fast and hard, analyzing all of their words for any possible meaning—it was the work of a desperate man, and it failed to yield any proper results when handed a decent lead.

"... I'm sorry. I'm so, so, sorry. I didn't mean to, it's just that..." That sounded like Merlin; apologetic, gentle, kindhearted. _Wait_, Arthur thought, shocked at the notion. _Do they... Did they know each other? How could they know each other?_ He blinked. How else would all the pieces fall together? It all made sense now (well, in one aspect)—of course they knew each other. Why else would there have been that episode in Lord Vane's chambers? And then, _Why does Merlin feel like he needs to hide this from me?_

"It's just that what?" Arthur jumped a little at the sudden question. A long pause had stretched between them, cut clean by Lord Macedonius. He sounded upset, angry. Which surprised Arthur. The man had been composed and calm all throughout his visit, and had seemed to him like a quiet, polite old man. Not one to raise his voice, or to demand answers. What could it be?

"I—I was scared."

What? Arthur seemed to be thinking that a lot lately. What did Merlin have to be scared of?

And, as if old Macedonius Vane could read his thoughts, he said, "Of what?"

"I—I—" he paused. "Things. Stuff. Nothing important. Stupid things."

If Merlin was scared and let that fear hold him back, turn him like a common coward, it couldn't be stupid. It just couldn't. Merlin wasn't one to run away from things. This was the man who followed him into battle with a dragon, fully expecting to die alongside his master without so much as a lick of armor. Arthur may have called him coward many a-time before, but they both knew it was in good fun. Didn't they? Good, brave, courageous Merlin. What did he have to be scared of?

"Were you scared of being found out?" Found out?

What were they talking about? Had he done something he shouldn't have? Merlin tended to do many things he shouldn't, but since when did that stop him? He'd wear them proudly, puffing out his chest as if to say, "Look what I did!", almost like a small boy looking for praise. It's not as though Arthur had ever punished him too severely, and the man had to know when he was getting in too deep—what could he have done, what could be so impactful, whatever it turned out to be, to turn him fearful of his friend's reactions?

"I don't usually stay in a place for five years at a time—you were just one of the exceptions."

Hadn't Merlin lived with his mother in Ealdor prior coming to Camelot? But here, it made it sound as though he had traveled. What did he mean he didn't usually "stay in a place for five years at a time"? If that was the case, he couldn't have seen more than one or two places before coming to Camelot. Had he traveled with Hunith? That was the only possibility Arthur could think of.

"They'd be sure to notice." _Notice **what**?_ That was what Arthur felt like going up to them and yelling, demanding answers and no silly sidetracking or half-assed lies. He was sure he'd implode if he had to listen to them sidestep saying whatever it was they were talking about one more time.

"People tend to notice when you don't—" Arthur's blade, shoved up from its place on his belt, clanked to the moss-coated ground, the steel hitting stone and resounding much too loud for his liking. He grimaced.

"What was that?" Arthur cursed inwardly. It was just his luck. He'd been so enraptured in their conversation, trying to decipher whatever it was they were talking about, to notice. And they'd finally been getting somewhere! What the hell were they talking about? Why couldn't they just say it? And why did his stupid sword have to make things all the more difficult?

"What?" He slowly reached for his blade, holding his breath and careful not to make any noise. _Don't come over here, don't come over here, don't look over here, please, please, please_... He repeated the mantra over and over in his head, praying for things to go his way, just this once. Merlin would be so angry to find Arthur listening in on the two of them like this, even if it was for his own good.

"I heard something." _Please, please, please_...

"Wait here—I'll check it out." No, Merlin, don't... Arthur's heartbeat quickened and he clenched and unclenched his fists nervously.

"I don't think that's a great idea, Merlin." Arthur heard some soft shuffling; he guessed the old lord was standing, his aging bones creaking—he could swear he could hear them crack. He cringed a little at the thought.

"We should just head back to camp. The sun's setting." Macedonius pointed out. Arthur breathed out a silent sigh of relief. Hopefully Merlin would listen to the person who was clearly the smart one of the pair. "Arthur will be curious as to where we've been. I don't believe it takes quite this long to collect sticks."

Merlin chuckled. "You'd be surprised, actually." Merlin gathered his bundle of sticks, as was evident by the wood-on-wood clicks Arthur heard. "But you're right—we should head back. It's getting late." They were right. It was almost completely dark, the sun too far gone to be seen much through the dense trees. Arthur hadn't realized so much time had passed, but was thankful for the cover provided by the inky blackness.

It didn't take long for Arthur to stumble back into camp and pretend like he'd been there the entire time. He'd unpacked two of their three sleeping rolls by the time Merlin and Macedonius had arrived, both carrying a meager amount of wood. Arthur didn't mention this, too preoccupied with trying to figure out their earlier exchange. He kept on drawing a blank whenever he tried to come up with any sort of rational explanation. Nothing made sense anymore.

It was an hour later Arthur found himself in front of their tiny fire, unable to sleep. He poked the flames and crumbling logs with a dry stick, watching as it caught fire and cooled when pulled away. He was deep in thought when Merlin, the only other awake (the old lord had retired quickly after their meal of dried meat and berries), approached him and sat beside him. Arthur spared him a glance before turning back to the dancing orange flame.

He half expected Merlin to start a conversation—it was Merlin, after all—but was surprised when all he did was sit quietly at his master's side. It was a rather nice change, if a little unnerving. Arthur silently willed him to say something—anything.

But he didn't.

Feeling awkward, Arthur's eyes moved from the fire to the simple metal band on his right index finger. He twirled it absentmindedly, watching as the surface changed again and again. The uneven texture of the metal was even more prominent in the soft fire light, the shadows drawing it out. He took it off and held it up, looking through it at the flame.

"Where did you get that?" Merlin asked suddenly, his voice incredulous and disbelieving. Arthur turned to look at him curiously. "What, this?"

"Where did you get it, Arthur?" Merlin fixed him with a hard stare, as if daring him not to answer the question.

Arthur smirked and rolled his eyes at his servant's antics. "My father gave it to me." Merlin gulped at that, his eyes wide and shifty. Arthur frowned.

"And who gave it to your father?" he asked, his voice just above a hoarse whisper. It sounded just as serious, just as urgent. Arthur's tired mind made a note of it, filing it away for later.

"What?" Arthur asked, bemused. "Merlin, why, exactly, do you need to know this? How in the world is this important?"

"Just tell me, Arthur—who gave your father that ring?" Merlin asked again. Arthur yawned. "It was my uncle's, happy?"

"Lord Agravaine's?"

"No." Arthur said. "My other uncle. This one's dead, so you wouldn't know him. His name was Ambrosius. My "Uncle Ambrosius", father called him."

Merlin didn't say anything, and Arthur yawned again. "Never actually met the man—father said he died just before I was born." He rubbed his eyes sluggishly. "Guess who gets first watch, Merlin? Wake me up in a couple hours; I'll do my shift then." He settled down in the sleeping roll he had been sitting on, his eyelids heavy with sleep.

It was a few minutes later when Arthur heard Merlin respond. "Arthur... How did your uncle die?"

Arthur sighed, annoyed. He opened his eyes just slightly, letting in the warm light of the fire. He thought back for a moment before answering, "He died saving my father." His lids slipped closed, and he slept.

**Yeah... That last paragraph... Not my best. I'll revise it later. The rest of this chapter took over a week, and I think I'm fairly pleased.**

**Like it or hate it, I would absolutely love it if you took the time to review—it's my writing fuel, after all!**


	7. Chapter 7

_**Disclaimer**:_ _I don't own_ Merlin.

**Made for Immortality**

**Chapter Seven**

The following morning was cold, to say the very least. The chill was biting and the light was blotted out by dark stormclouds hanging overhead. Merlin felt like groaning aloud at the sight, but managed to keep his mouth shut. Arthur looked troubled enough as it was without him making it all the worse by complaining. The only thing that would come from his whinging would be a fight between servant and master, of which was an event best left avoided.

"Hurry up, Merlin!" Arthur called over the wind, rolling up their bedding. "I'm starving!"

Merlin rolled his eyes and stirred the thin soup. It was only just beginning to boil in its place above the fire, the flames licking the burnt bottom. Made from the rest of the dried meat from yesterday's meals, combined with herbs Merlin had been able to throw in last minute, it was far from being fit for royalty. _Well, Arthur's just going to have to deal_, he thought, beyond caring. He, for one, was too hungry to care.

Despite sitting close to the only source of heat they had, Merlin shivered. His frayed jacket was old and did little to keep him warm. He supposed the time to get a new one had long since passed, but still found himself unable to part with it. It was a memento of his fractured, fading past, and he couldn't help it if he wanted to keep everything like it as close to him as possible. It wasn't like he could die from hypothermia like the others, so as far as Merlin was concerned, things were just fine as they were.

He let his eyes fall closed—just for a moment—and let himself rest. Sleep had evaded him overnight, leaving him with nothing but his worries and thoughts of that _ring_. He shivered again, but not from the cold.

His eyes opened again, and he let out a shaky sigh. The smell of the meat was beginning to make him nauseous. He gasped. He felt like he was being smothered from the inside out. His chest was heavy, making it harder and harder to breathe. Merlin forced in a large intake of air and held it in, willing himself to calm. Breaking down was far from being an option.

Breathing out, he felt his head clear. His hands were still shaking, but there wasn't much he could do about that. The wooden spoon trembled as he lifted it from the broth to taste it, the soup bubbling from the heat. Three tiny bowls sat beside him, waiting to be filled. He did so one at a time, calling, "Breakfast's ready!"

"Finally!" he heard Arthur yell from behind, half exasperated and half relieved. "I'm starved!"

"I know, you've said," Merlin replied. Arthur, of whom had been tending to the horses, hurried over. "Here you go," he said, handing the king his portion.

Arthur didn't say as much as a "Thank you, Merlin" before sitting down in front of the fire, holding his leather-gloved hands close to the flame, his bowl set off to the side. He shivered, and said, "This damned weather had better not be this bad the rest of the week." Merlin hummed in agreement, leaving his food untouched. He wasn't very hungry anymore.

"Where's M- Lord Vane?" Merlin asked suddenly. He felt guilty for not realizing the man's absence sooner. He ducked his head a little, waiting for a reply.

Arthur shot him a look of knowing suspicion, which made Merlin's stomach do a back flip that almost made him throw up. "He went out to get more wood for the fire—we're running low, in case you haven't noticed."

Merlin frowned, trying to ignore the tendrils of worry telling him Arthur knew something, something important. _Not now, go away_, he felt like screaming at them, despite its inevitable uselessness. "Aren't we leaving? Why do we need more firewood if we're just going to be putting it out in a few minutes and be on our way?"

There was no other sound over the scraping of Arthur's spoon at the bottom of his bowl. "I figured we could stay here another night," he said. Merlin stayed silent for the next few moments, waiting for him to continue. He didn't.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

Merlin groaned in annoyance. "Why are we staying another night? What's the point?"

"Lord Macedonius is an old man," Arthur began. "Traveling for too long at a time isn't good for him. While we usually leave by morning, with Lord Vane I think it's best we stay here another day. Besides," he said brightly, "we haven't hunted here yet—there's bound to be plenty of game around." He said this so confidently it was impossible for Merlin _not_ roll his eyes at the young king for the third time that morning.

"If you say so."

"I _do_ say so," Arthur snapped back. "And, as we all know, my word is law. So there."

He snorted, and Arthur grinned.

Mace returned minutes later with a modest bunch of wood, of which Merlin accepted graciously. He handed the man his cooling food in exchange and began to stock up the dying fire, coaxing it back to its former glory despite the blustering wind. By the time breakfast was through, Merlin's face was numb from the cold, his hands dry and chapped. The others were a bit better off than him, given their rich attire, but still had a windswept look about them. He didn't even want to think about how he would feel had he not had his magic protecting him. He could feel it—it was a small bundle of warmth nestled in his gut. He'd be frozen to the bone without it.

Merlin put out the fire. They headed to the horses soon after, saddling and mounting them before trotting out. The three men traveled quietly, something Merlin was sure Arthur would have killed for previously. Now, he couldn't help but think the king only looked uncomfortable. He felt as though he should speak, break the silence like he usually did, but couldn't bring himself to do so. So he kept to himself and to his thoughts, grimacing as large gusts of sharp air hit them.

They journeyed for another hour, Merlin and Macedonius following Arthur's lead, him being the only one paying attention and looking for deer and boar to shoot. His mind wandered. The only thing keeping him tethered to the real world was the soreness that came with riding a horse.

As much as he tried not to think of it, the ring always came back to mind. It filled him with dread and panic, made his heart beat unnaturally fast and the world feel like it was closing in around him. His hands clenched and unclenched around the reins, giving him a sense of reality.

When he first saw the thing around Arthur's finger, he thought nothing of it. Sure, it had looked familiar, but it was just a ring. That was all that it was. And a fairly simple one, at that. How could it feel familiar? Where would he have seen it before if not on Arthur's hand?

Memories of the past were always fuzzy. Even his times with Mace were a little fragmented. He could remember little things, like tutoring the boy or playing with Bradyn, or conversations with their lord father. But even then he couldn't recall what they were speaking about, what he was teaching or even what game they were playing. It made him feel sick, a sensation that settled in his stomach, wallowing there simply to make him feel miserable. And he hated it. He hated every second of it. Why couldn't he remember? It wasn't like he wanted to forget, like he wanted to never remember his mother, his father, his friends over the years. He couldn't remember someone he'd looked upon as a son, or perhaps a nephew—he was sure he'd been something of a parental figure to Mace and his brother. And now he was older than him in all the ways that counted. He gripped the reins tighter. How could things have gotten so messed up?

He felt like crying. Like stopping his horse, sliding off and letting the earth swallow him whole. _I could probably do that, too_, Merlin thought distantly. But he couldn't do that. Arthur needed him. He needed to be strong. Having some sort of panic attack or whatever this was wouldn't do anything productive, and would only continue to make him feel terrible. _Suck it up, Merlin_, he told himself. _You can do this_.

This was all because of that _stupid ring_ and Mace deciding to show his face where he wasn't wanted. Why was he even here? What did he need from Arthur, anyway? As far as Merlin was concerned, the old man could just pack his things and leave the city right then and there, never to be seen again.

And that _ring_! Oh, how he wanted to go and rip if from Arthur's finger and throw it far, far away! Or burn it, eviscerate it, destroy it with magic. He never wanted to see that damn thing again. It wasn't wanted. It brought back the few memories Merlin didn't care to remember. And, of course, those were the ones he was stuck with. It isn't fair! he thought, screaming as loud as the confines of his mind would allow.

He only just refrained from growling in anger and frustration and even more anger. He could feel the blood running and dripping between his fingers from gripping the leather rein so hard, but he couldn't let go. It felt _good_ to let it all out. To let it all out in the only way he could. If he didn't have to keep all these damn secrets, he'd scream. He'd scream long and loud and hard. He wouldn't have to care about being found out, or even being vaguely concerned about scaring the animals around them. He'd be able to let it all out to the point of him feeling empty inside. And it would feel _good_.

"—_just what do they think they're doing?_" Merlin jolted back into the real world, almost jumping from his saddle in his surprise. He turned to Arthur, recognizing his voice instantly. The king looked appalled at what he saw—whatever that might have been—while Mace looked just as surprised, if not a little confused. His head whipped around to see what it was that had earned such a reaction from Arthur, and was shocked to see they were bordering a small village. It seemed they had traveled farther than Merlin had thought.

His gaze moved to the center of the village, and he found himself just as disgusted. An old woman was roped around a wooden stake, surrounded by angry men and women shouting all at once, loud enough to hear but too muddled to make out. Merlin's brow furrowed.

"Come on," Arthur said, digging his heel into his horse's side. "We have to put a stop to this." He and his horse ran fast toward the horde of people before the pyre could be set alight.

Merlin was confused. But pleased, he supposed. Didn't Arthur hate sorcerers and sorceresses and all things magic? He shook his head, and he and Macedonius followed quickly after him.

"I order you to stop this!" Arthur called, his voice strong and that of a king. "Cut her down!" He dismounted and approached the leader of the village. Merlin and Mace brought their steeds to a halt, but stayed atop.

"Who're you?" The village leader was a man of about sixty, Merlin guessed. His hair was a stark white against his blotched skin, and a beard just as white had begun to sprout from his chin. He looked speculative of the three strangers, his brow raised and his mouth firm.

"I am King Arthur Pendragon," he said. People gasped and bowed. The village leader stayed standing. If he was at all shocked by Arthur's declaration, he didn't show it. "I order you to let this woman go. She's done you no harm, surely."

The man snorted. "Gave us a sickness, she did. Children died because of her." Merlin turned his gaze to Arthur, holding his breath. He had no reason to save her—why would he still? Did she even deserve to be saved?

"Did she receive a fair trial?" His tone remained diplomatic, but gained a steel edge.

The man didn't say anything for a moment. "Your father wouldn't have shown her mercy."

Arthur's fists clenched and his jaw tightened, but he otherwise retained his calm. "Cut her down," he said, his voice losing its diplomatic quality in exchange for a steely finality. There was no room left for objections. "_Now_."

* * *

They ultimately returned to camp, Merlin giving up his horse for the old woman—Valdis, they soon learned—to lay on. She was slumped forward, and so still that they were afraid she'd just gone and died. She was still breathing, to their relief, but only just.

They had her settled in a sleeping roll a matter of feet from the fire, Arthur ordering Merlin to assist her while he cleaned the deer they'd caught on their way back. "Look her over, make sure she's alright," he had said. Merlin had shot him a look—they both knew Valdis was far from alright. But he'd gone and did as he was told, checking her temperature and looking her over for smaller injuries. It didn't take him long to figure out that there was nothing to be done. She was old. She was dying. And there wasn't anything anybody could do about it.

"I'm sorry, Arthur, but I can't do anything to help her," he said, whispering. They shared a glance and looked back at the woman, of whom was speaking with Macedonius. Arthur stirred the stew, and said, "I thought as much."

They stood and walked back to her. Arthur knelt down, and before he could say anything, Valdis croaked, "Thank you."

The king was taken aback. His eyes were wide in surprise. Merlin could certainly understand why—a sorceress had just thanked the son of Uther Pendragon. It made him smile; things were changing for Camelot and for its ruler. Things were definitely changing, and for the better.

"You're welcome," Arthur said. He paused. "... I'm sorry."

Valdis looked as though she needed no explanation. "It's my time."

He nodded jerkily, and replied, "You should get some rest. Dinner will be ready soon." He stood. Merlin sat beside her and adjusted her blankets.

"Wait," she said softly. Arthur stopped, looking down at her curiously. "I have a gift for you."

He opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it and knelt down next to her again.

"You've shown you have the true qualities of a king. Kindness and compassion; things a true king such as you needs." Her hand shook as she reached under the folds of her old, dark cloak. Out came an object swathed in dirt-coated cloth. Merlin leaned forward to help, guiding her trembling arm to Arthur. The king stared.

"Take it." He complied.

"Thank you," he said warily.

"Open it," she said. Her eyes drooped, and her chest rattled from the effort of breathing.

Arthur removed the cloth, revealing an intricate horn. From where Merlin was, he could see it was made of bone, and what looked like detailed carvings adorned it. "It's beautiful," Arthur said, not taking his eyes from it. "Thank you."

Valdis nodded weakly. "It has the power to summon the spirits of the dead." Her voice was thin, and her lungs wheezed with every intake. Arthur clasped her arm in comfort. Her eyes fluttered shut, and her chest stilled. She was dead.

Merlin envied her.

**I guess I've been in a bit of a writing mood, with the three day weekend we've got and all. :) If you can guess exactly why I brought in the Horn from The Death Song of Uther Pendragon early, and why Merlin hates that ring, among other things, kudos to you. I won't tell you, but kudos.**

**Anyways, SEMI-IMPORTANT QUESTION, here: do you guys want the knights to be a larger part of the story? I hadn't really thought about it 'till now, but I want your input. If people don't care, I don't think I'll put them in. Not for anything major, I don't think. I dunno, it just never came up in my outline (you should see how long it is—if all goes according to plan, this is just the tip of the iceberg. Seriously). **

**Reviews are always appreciated, along with constructive criticism. Both make extreme awesomeness. I didn't know that was a word. Huh. Well, I'm tired, and I'm rambling, so I'm just gonna post this and go to sleep. Night night.**

**Oh, yeah. And if you find any typos, or punctuation errors, or something that's supposed to be in italics and it bugs you (alright, even if you don't give a shit tell me, 'cause it bugs me), feel free to tell and I'll fix it when there's daylight. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! So happy you guys like it. :D**

**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Merlin.

**Made for Immortality**

**Chapter Eight**

"Gaius, the woman said it could bring back _spirits_," Arthur stressed, his lips pressed tight in a stern frown. "Is that true?"

It was barely an hour after they had returned, and only a day after the old woman's passing. They had given her a proper burial and headed home, the horn carefully wrapped in one of Arthur's clean tunics and stuffed in his saddlebag. "It is best if we get this to Gaius as soon as possible," the king had said. "If it really is as powerful an object as she said, we must take great care." Merlin and Lord Vane had agreed wholeheartedly.

Gaius took the offered horn and rolled it around in his hands. He frowned. "Wait here," he said, turning on his heel abruptly. Macedonius had left for his chambers to rest and clean up, leaving the two of them to speculate as to why Valdis had given them such an artifact.

They watched as the old man ascended a rickety ladder, running a finger over the spines of a row of dusty volumes, his other hand still holding the horn. He'd shoot it another glance here and there, searching over several rows of books. "Ah ha!" he finally exclaimed, much to Arthur's relief. He climbed back down, a thick, large book in his arms.

He set it onto one of his many worktables with a loud _bang_, dust flying up around them. Opening it, he flipped through the thin paper sheets, squinting and leaning in close until he found the correct page. "There we are," he said, smiling.

"According to this it is called the _Horn of Cathbhadh_, an artifact used by the Old Priestesses." His wrinkled fingers skimmed the pages. He squinted as he did so. "It says here they would go to the Great Stones of Nemeton every year at Beltane and use the horn to summon—oh, thank you, my boy." Merlin smiled softly, handing the man his glasses. Gaius put them on, nodding and pursing his lips. "They would summon the spirits of their ancestors for guidance." His eyes danced across the pages. "They had to train many years beforehand due to the dangers of opening the gateway."

He turned a page and frowned. He was quiet for a moment, as if debating whether or not to continue speaking. "It says here that..." he trailed off.

"What is it?" Merlin asked, his brow creased in concern.

"It says that, when used with the Cup of Life, it can..." he paused and licked his lips. "It can bring back the dead, sire."

Heavy silence filled the air. Arthur's thoughts seemed to stop in their tracks. How was that even possible? he wondered, more than a little worried. There was no doubt in his mind that the Horn of Cathbhadh would bring nothing but misery—sorcerers from every corner of Albion could be searching for it at that very moment, and not the kind he felt guilty about eradicating.

"How is that even possible?" Arthur asked aloud, getting over his surprise; hadn't Gaius told him at one point or another that bringing back the dead was impossible, even by magical standards? He shook his head slightly. Nothing tended to make much sense anymore. No, the ship of rationality and all things within the confines of reason had long since sailed, much to Arthur's eternal frustration.

"The Cup of Life has been known to restore men on the brink of death to the very peak of health in an instant," the old physician replied. "Should it come to any surprise that it can even reverse death itself?"

Arthur didn't answer. Instead he reached over to grab the horn sitting beside the hundred-year-old tome. "It is far too dangerous to be kept around. It will be placed in the underground vaults immediately."

Gaius arched a brow. Arthur would never say it, but he hated that look. Absolutely _despised_ it. It was so... critical and condemnatory and gave him the horrible feeling of being _wrong_. "Do you think it wise, sire, to leave it intact?"

"What do you propose I do with it, then? Burn it? Smash it with a hammer?"

"Yes, that is exactly what I am saying."

Arthur was silent for a moment. Gaius was right. Camelot had far too many breaches in security—it made him rather nervous just thinking of it—for it to be safe here. What if another crazed sorcerer caught wind and decided to try and steal it? Or, even worse, what of Morgana? There had been no word of her for months; the mere prospect of her cropping up again made his hair rise and his blood boil. Gods, he hated that woman.

"Alright," he agreed. "However, something tells me there's more to it." He handed the horn back to Gaius.

"Of course," the physician said, smiling slightly. "Very keen of you, sire."

Arthur nodded, urging him to move on.

"The Old Priestesses enchanted the horn to keep it from harm," he said. "It is to my understanding," he patted the book, "that the horn is one of a kind. Destroying this one would mean severing all methods of communication to the netherworld, save calling upon the Cailleach herself."

The king hesitated, but said, "Yes, but how do I destroy it? You've made it perfectly clear as to why they spelled it, and that it needs to be gotten rid of, but how do I do that?"

"I was getting to that," Gaius said. "In order to destroy the Horn of Cathbhadh, you must take it to the Great Stones of Nemeton—" Arthur had to refrain from interrupting to ask what exactly that was "—to recite a certain incantation to remove the spells. This will make it so you could, say, _smash it with a hammer_, or perhaps _burn it_. Do what you will with it; it will not resist."

Arthur raised a brow. "Seems a little too easy, don't you think?" Another thought struck him. "And wouldn't I need a sorcerer to remove the spells? I can't do that myself."

"No magic is required for such an act, sire," Gaius assured. He raised his brow higher, disbelieving. He let out a laugh. "But I'll be removing _spells_," he said, "how do I not need magic for that?"

"All you need to do is say the words," the physician continued, persistent. "The Stones of Nemeton will do the work; you just need to guide it."

"... _Without_ magic."

"That is right, sire."

He scoffed. "Alright," he said, throwing his hands in the air in surrender. He noticed Merlin watching in quiet amusement. "I'll try it. But if it doesn't work I'm placing it in the vaults. The guards are going to be retrained to keep the castle all the more secure."

"You might want to try replacing the entire guard," Merlin said, grinning cheekily. Arthur mentally patted himself on the back; he didn't know what had happened to get his manservant back to his old self, but he would be forever grateful. Not that he would ever say, of course. "In case you haven't noticed, _sire_, they are absolutely _terrible_ at their jobs."

"I'd like to see you train an entire army of men, _Merlin_," he said defensively. "It's a lot harder than it looks, I'll have you know."

Merlin smiled a secretive smile, an odd twinkle in his eye. "Oh, I'm sure."

He shot his servant an odd look, but didn't say anything of it. Slinging an arm over the taller man's shoulders, he said, "No slacking today, Merlin—you have lots of chores to attend to after our little trip. First order of business: Run me a bath."

* * *

Merlin's day had been filled to the brim with chore after chore after chore, leaving him sweaty, hungry and exhausted. Collapsing into a creaking wooden chair at the makeshift dining table in Gaius' chambers, he sighed. The physician stood at the fire, stirring the simmering soup above the flames. "I don't think I need to tell you how my day went. How was yours?"

Gaius regarded his ward with worry. "Merlin, you must make sure Arthur destroys the horn."

"Okay," he nodded, a little annoyed with the man's abruptness. What was wrong with a relaxing evening with no talk of magic or destiny? Of course, it was a naïve and impossible request, even for one night. "What's so important about it other than the obvious?"

The old man arched a brow in reply. "What?" Merlin asked indignantly. "So it can bring back the dead, it can only do that with the Cup of Life! _I_ don't even know where that is!" He was lying through his teeth. He didn't want to lie to the man, but he didn't really need to know now, did he? It wasn't like anyone would find it where he put it, with dozens of protective spells shielding it from harm and use, guarded by people who would rather die than let him down. Yes, he decided, it was perfectly safe where it was.

"It can also summon spirits, Merlin," Gaius reminded. He looked at his ward in blatant disapproval, which grated on his already severely frayed nerves. _Please, don't talk to me like I'm an idiot_, he wanted to say. Merlin wasn't stupid. But the appearance of large ears that fanned out behind a wide, child-like grin tended to give such an impression. Sure, he'd made some not-so-intelligent decisions over the years, but he'd learned from them, avoiding doing the same when similar circumstances crossed his path for the second time. Now that he was in Camelot, the façade had been something of a necessity given the people who resided there. He found it to be a very practical way to keep his secrets, however terrible the side effects. Act like an fool and you have the greatest mask of all. No one paid much mind to simpletons.

"Yes, I know this," Merlin said in exasperation. His stomach grumbled angrily, but he ignored it. "What, do you think he'll try and use it?" He laughed. "He's not that stupid!"

It was as he said this he began to understand Gaius' concerns. The idea of seeing the spirit of a deceased loved one was certainly tempting. He'd felt the tug urging him to take it and go to the Stones to speak to his mother, to his friends long gone and turned to dust, to Freya. The pain of their absence was blinding. It had to be ten times that of Arthur's after 500 years of living, but he felt for the boy. He'd suffered much more than Merlin had at that age.

There was no doubt Arthur had thought of taking it and leaving, whether he had realized it or not. It would make itself known eventually. The questions were simply when and if. When would he grapple with the need for closure, and would he give in?

Gaius gave Merlin a pointed look and sat down across from him. "Arthur has lost many in his lifetime. I fear he may attempt to take the horn and summon Igraine—and that is only if we are lucky."

Merlin's eyes widened. "You don't think he'd go as far as to..."

"Search for the Cup? Yes, I do."

**Apologies for the shortness, but I wanted to get it up. I can't help but feel like I'm getting their personalities completely wrong. Or maybe it's just 'cause I'm American, which kind of skewers the dialog so they don't sound like they do on the show. I'm rereading this, thinking, ****_Would they really say that?_**** Anyway, I'll work on it, promise, but pointers would be awesome.**

**And about the knights: I was editing my outline and it turns out they do have a bit of a part, it's just not until the very end. But it's a very simple outline, so don't despair; I'll try and squeeze them in one of the upcoming chapters. :)**

**I've got another question for you guys: Is there anything you'd like to see happen by the end of this story? I've got the whole outline, but like I said it's pretty rough and has plenty of room for adjustment. Even if it's small, feel free to tell me in a review. **

**Sorry, I'm rambling now. I really need to stop doing this. See y'all next time! ;)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Oh, geez, guys. This story is gonna need some serious editing after it's finished.**

**_Disclaimer__:_** _I don't own_ Merlin.

**Made for Immortality**

**Chapter Nine**

"Merlin," the man said, exasperated, "we're going hunting today, remember? No need for paperwork or other business. Today is a day of relaxation, not work." He said the word with such contempt Merlin had to smile.

"Well, someone has to run things around here, since you obviously aren't the one for it," he said jokingly, getting up from his scroll littered desk. "Sire."

"Oh, ha ha," the older man said, slinging an arm around Merlin's shoulders. "The horses are already ready, not to mention Cornelius is still waiting for us."

Merlin smirked. "You know he hates hunting just as much as I do," he said, beginning to tidy up the room. They stood in the highest tower, a location Merlin has picked himself simply for the spanning view of the city below. It may have been a rickety building in its last stages of construction, but his magic managed to keep it upright until it was .

The man pouted, looking reminiscent of an overgrown toddler. Merlin laughed. "I never said I wasn't going," he pointed out, much to the delight of the man before him.

"You mean it?"

"Of course," Merlin said patiently, replacing a book to its spot on a dusty shelf. "Me, refuse a king of Camelot? _Never_..."

* * *

Merlin's eyes opened. Fully expecting to see the man still standing in front of him, poised to smack him round the head for his mockery, he couldn't help but be disappointed and a little confused at the sight that greeted him in its place. Blinking blearily, his blue eyes focused on the plastered ceiling of his room in Camelot's court physician's quarters. He wondered distantly what had happened, and where exactly the man had gone. They had only just been speaking, him cleaning and the other pleading, and now he was back here. Where was here, again?

He laid there for another moment or so, doing nothing other than blinking and staring at the ceiling. Memories came crashing back, but they hardly surprised him. He felt as though he had had them all his life, and couldn't help but wonder if he had. Had they ever really been gone?

It took another minute, but Merlin eventually forced himself to sit up. The mattress creaked beneath his weight as he leaned against the wall behind him.

However impossible it seemed, Merlin hadn't been in possession of those memories just a day ago. It wasn't a lot, but it felt undeniably familiar, like it was a part of him that had just been returned instead of a vague and incomplete memory. The suffocating feeling that had settled in his chest lightened. Taking in a long, deep breath, Merlin reveled in the feeling.

Looking out the window, he jumped. The sun was already high in the sky, and Arthur was sure to be wondering where his manservant had gotten to. Or perhaps he wasn't. _Angry, more like_, Merlin thought, rolling his eyes. Pushing back the blanket, Merlin took a moment to brush a hand through his greased hair (to which he grimaced and wiped his hand on his pant leg) before shoving his door open. Gaius paused in his sweeping to aim a raised brow at his ward; shaking his head wearily, he returning to his work.

Swiping a stale slice of bread, Merlin stumbled to the stairs. In his efforts to make the journey to the kitchens as short as possible, he tried to eat as fast as he could while jogging up staircases and through halls. This, of course, resulted in him choking on said food in the middle of a (thankfully empty) hallway. Just thinking about it made him blush.

After an argument with the cook and a few scary slips of Arthur's breakfast and morning laundry, Merlin finally managed to make it to the king's chambers. He stood now in front of the double doors to the prat's quarters, knocking. "Come in!" was the distant answer.

Shouldering the doors open, Merlin set down the tray and clothing filled basket, only to find one of those two chores taken care of.

"You," Arthur said, "are late." He sat at the table beside the bed (already made, Merlin noticed), Guinevere shuffling around the room dusting the furniture. A platter of half-eaten food was set in front of him.

"Well, by the looks of it," Merlin said, "I'm not needed here. Well, I'm off!" He reached for the door, but was stopped by Arthur's reply.

"Don't be silly, Merlin," the king smiled. "Tyr has told me the horses are missing you terribly."

He scowled. "Prat."

"Now, is that any way to speak to your king?" Arthur said, his tone joking.

Merlin sighed, resigned. "I'll make you pay for this, I swear it."

Arthur's brow raised. "Will you, now?"

Hand on the doorknob, Merlin replied dramatically, "I swear on my life and all things good that you _will_ pay for this."

Rolling his eyes, Arthur waved him goodbye. "Have fun," he said, turning to the scroll rolled out on the table.

"Oh, I will. I will be having the absolute time of my _life_, sire!"

* * *

Mucking out stables had to be the job Merlin despised most. In all of the castle there were plenty of despicable tasks, each one assigned to a certain servant every single day, and he had done them all. Having said that, Merlin could still conclude that mucking out a filthy stable of horse shit was the worst job there was.

Dirt and other things he really didn't wish to linger upon had been smeared all across his clothing and skin; not even his face had been spared, much to Merlin's displeasure.

Tyr, the young stable hand, had come in earlier and asked if he had needed help. Merlin had politely declined. Now that he was in the position of shoveling day old excrement in a fly infested, horse-filled stable, he really regretted it. As in _really_ regretted it.

A horse snorted and nudged the warlocks shoulder. He growled under his breath and gently shoved it back.

After working for almost an hour, Merlin was already halfway done. Wiping the sweat from his forehead with no regard to the filth, he leaned against the doorframe and sighed.

"Having fun, Merlin?" said an amused voice from behind. Startled, Merlin jerked forward, his heartbeat escalating. Turning quick, he saw none other than Lord Macedonius Vane.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, a little angry. "Don't you think people will think it a bit odd that a lord of your stature is speaking to a mere servant?" His nose scrunched slightly. "A servant charged with mucking out the stables, no less." He knew he was exaggerating. That this was unfair. But talking to Lord Vane was really something he preferred to avoid. A small, prodding feeling of guilt made itself known at the back of his mind.

Macedonius frowned. "You don't sound very happy to see me," he said. He stepped closer, his hand resting on a sheathed blade, the other behind his back. "All I am doing is collecting my horse; I'm afraid it is time for me to take my leave."

A myriad of emotions made themselves known at this notion. He had had conflicting feelings of sending Macedonius on his way since his arrival two weeks ago. He had known the lord would eventually have to leave and go back to Etyn, and it was unlikely that the two of them would ever cross paths again. Despite all of that, Merlin couldn't help but feel relieved. The time that Macedonius had been in Camelot had been the most nerve wracking of his life (that he could recall, anyway). With that relief came guilt; he had helped raise the man, for gods sakes! He shouldn't be happy to see him go!

But, then again, he wasn't. Not really. Despite Mace's graying hair and lined face, he still saw the young, mischievous teenager he had taught all those years ago. A strange mixture of pride, sadness, and regret replaced the fleeting relief. All of a sudden he felt his feet moving forward on their own accord. He ended up with his arms wrapped tight around the other man. "I'm sorry," he muttered against his shoulder. "Mace, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for leaving, for being a coward, for not being able to help Bradyn. I'm so, so sorry."

Merlin ended the embrace and took an awkward step back. He grinned sheepishly and said, "And I'm sorry for getting your clothes dirty."

Macedonius smiled fondly. "Ah, not to worry," he said. "No harm done. They're just clothes." He gently brushed away the dirt.

"I've come to say goodbye," he started again, meandering into the stable in search of his horse. Merlin followed him in, helping him look for the splotchy white mare that was his. "And," he continued, "I came to ask a favor of you."

"And that is...?"

Macedonius didn't answer. He kept on searching along the lines of horses and their stalls, patting some of them on the sides while he looked. They were at the very back when he finally found her. "Ah, there you are," he said, smiling.

Merlin stayed quiet and watched as the old lord readied his horse. He didn't bother to say that such a task wasn't meant for the likes of a lord, but for those of stable hands like Tyr. It was little things like this that set Macedonius apart from the multitude of other lords, of whom cared little for their serfs and servants and only for their own wants and interests. Merlin had been sure to teach the young lord in such a way that he would have respect for all, even those designated as lesser than him. This included doing lots of hard and dirty work that he wouldn't have even thought of doing had it not been for the warlock and his highly unconventional teachings.

Clearly, all his work in Etyn had not been for nothing.

"I want you to kill Bradyn."

... Or perhaps not.

Merlin's head whipped around to face the lord. Macedonius stood in the stable stall, fastening his reins on tight. He didn't meet Merlin's eyes. Aghast, he choked out, "_What_?"

"You heard what I said," was the only answer.

"But... What? No! I'm not... I—I'd never so much as even think of killing Bradyn, let alone do it just because you told me to do it!" Merlin shouted. "For gods sakes, he's your brother!"

"You think I don't know that?" Macedonius asked tersely. He turned to Merlin and looked him straight in the eye, anger radiating from him. "I know my brother. He would never do these things. Bradyn is too good a person to even contemplate killing women and children, but somehow he's out there, right now, doing just that!"

Merlin's glare faltered. "I came to Camelot to tell King Arthur my... _brother_ was slaughtering his people alongside his own sister. But when I saw that you were here, I..." he paused, his anger leaving him. He appeared as though he had aged another ten years, his shoulders sloped and his back losing its rigidness. "I thought you might be able to help."

Sighing, Merlin said, "How is killing Bradyn going to help? Surely there's a better way."

"Not that I know of."

Macedonius led the pretty mare out of the stable and into the sunlight. Merlin followed quietly, thinking. His hand had begun to tremble with nerves.

Taking a deep breath of fresh air, the warlock noted the group of knights in the courtyard. They were the very same that had accompanied Macedonius to the city. "You're leaving now? Right now?" Merlin asked.

Macedonius mounted his horse and said, "I am afraid so. I need that answer now, Merlin."

Merlin frowned in disgust. "On whether or not I'll kill your younger brother, you mean?"

"Yes," he replied. "It will be a mercy. Will you do it?"

He was silent for a moment. What should he say? It felt as though there was no decision to be made: He would never kill Bradyn. It didn't matter that he was working with Morgana or that he had killed innocents. The boy had been just as important to him as Mace had been. Merlin just knew that if he agreed, he would never be able to go through with it. There was no questioning it.

But he had seen how close the two had been. They would do anything for each other, it had seemed, and a rational part of Merlin's brain pointed out that there had to be a reason one would want the other dead. Maybe Macedonius was right. Maybe Bradyn didn't really exist anymore.

He sighed. "Alright," he agreed. "I'll see what I can do."

**This chapter of Made for Immortality was brought to you by shameless self advertising: I have an account on FictionPress now, and just recently updated a story. It's going to be long, and a part of a series, and was influenced by Merlin (along with Game of Thrones, Carrie, Supernatural, and a load of other things). It's a medieval fantasy, and if anyone wanted to check it out and maybe leave a comment, that would be awesome. :) My penname is "not all it's cracked up to be", if anybody's interested.**

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